zephyr
The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The lonesome organ grinder cries
What the fuck does champagne have to do with rain? You don't favor the weird aside with a response, only raising an eyebrow and grunting noncommittally. You'd prefer something stronger if given the option, and you'd prefer to be inside when it rains. You'd also prefer that Nate not smoke, but at least he has the decency to turn himself downwind. Small blessing and all that.
You'd heard about the dead coming back. Not sure if it's better or worse that your own lost ones didn't rise up again; you aren't sure you'd be able to take staring at El-who-is-not-El, or the exquisite pain of holding Ray again but knowing he's tethered forever to a god. But to fuck up the shit of these lovebirds? Shoving a hand into a pocket, you glance sidelong at Nate. "Who was it?" A dead lover, probably. Or someone they killed. Maybe both.
The rain falls like a curtain over the line of the horizon, a promise brought to fruition as the sky begins to cry. It'll be minutes before it reaches the pair of you, not long enough for you to get home. Already your arm is aching considerably, and though you don't want to take Nate up on his offer, you know you'll regret letting your pride win this bout. "Thanks," you grumble irritably, walking into the massive cavern that is the Governor's house. "He was some kinda priest," is the answer to Nate's earlier question, given as you kneel down to remove your boots. "Talked a lotta smack about th'Voice an' Ascended bringin' 'bout th'end'a days or someshit."
You'd heard about the dead coming back. Not sure if it's better or worse that your own lost ones didn't rise up again; you aren't sure you'd be able to take staring at El-who-is-not-El, or the exquisite pain of holding Ray again but knowing he's tethered forever to a god. But to fuck up the shit of these lovebirds? Shoving a hand into a pocket, you glance sidelong at Nate. "Who was it?" A dead lover, probably. Or someone they killed. Maybe both.
The rain falls like a curtain over the line of the horizon, a promise brought to fruition as the sky begins to cry. It'll be minutes before it reaches the pair of you, not long enough for you to get home. Already your arm is aching considerably, and though you don't want to take Nate up on his offer, you know you'll regret letting your pride win this bout. "Thanks," you grumble irritably, walking into the massive cavern that is the Governor's house. "He was some kinda priest," is the answer to Nate's earlier question, given as you kneel down to remove your boots. "Talked a lotta smack about th'Voice an' Ascended bringin' 'bout th'end'a days or someshit."
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you
